


Regestration Day

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madeline comes to Michael's rescue when he has a conflict with a teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regestration Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incapricious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/gifts).



> A treat for incapricious, written for Yuletide '12 . Thanks to my beta, Tam!

“Michael,” Madeline Westen grumbled as she sat down at their kitchen table, “your homework isn’t confetti. Clean this up.” 

He looked up suddenly, little fingers clenching briefly around his pencil. “I’ll do it later,” he said.

“Michael,” she growled, making it very clear that this was a warning shot, and that he should buckle down and obey before his father got home, turned drunk, and finally got violent. If the kids were asleep he’d turn elsewhere to relieve his aggression. It was an odd threat to make, but one Michael usually responded to.

Only this time his face turned resentful. “No,” Michael sulked. At eight he was growing into a smart, tough boy, with a whipcord-sharp intellect fashioned by years of trying to outsmart and avoid this father. She eyeballed his expression curiously, trying to figure out why he was so strangely mopey. Then she saw his face, the little tracks of old tears on his cheek; he had been crying, a softness he rarely allowed himself to indulge in.

“Sweetie?” Madeline’s cloying side emerged instantly, and she squatted down to make eye contact with her son. “What’s the matter?”

He was recalcitrant for a long moment, before the words emerged with reluctance. “It’s…Miss Tessmacher.”

“Your teacher?” 

He nodded. “She said I needed to do extra homework because I’m too dumb to pay attention in class.” He flipped the blue-lined pages of his notebook with disgust. “Because of this stuff I couldn’t go to play baseball with Andre!”

Madeline’s eyes widened in response. “….Excuse me?” she gasped out. This woman – this creature – couldn’t have possibly insulted her baby so bluntly, and with such careless disregard for his young ego.

He nodded, and repeated, “dumb.” He bent toward the homework. “Leave me alone, ma? Please?” 

Madeline bit her bottom lip and backed away, turning toward the dishes. Already an idea bloomed in her mind – she would confront the woman on her son’s behalf, do what Frank didn’t, couldn’t do for the boy. But instead she simply offered her son comfort. “She’s never seen you pick a lock,” Maddie offered up.

Michael grinned without lifting his eyes from the page. 

*** 

The following afternoon, Madeline arrived fifteen minutes before Michael’s dismissal bell, dressed to the nines, her eyes radiating power and brimming with purpose. When he saw her peering into the room through a crack in the door, he crouched closer to his desk, writing with great intensity. The dismissal routine took ten minutes without fail, and once the bus lines had cleared out Michael moved toward the door; Maddie pulled it open and stuffed a comic book in his hand.

“Wait for me outside,” she instructed, patting his baseball cap-clad head as she pushed past him to enter the room. The miniature perfection of the rows of empty desk contrasted with the dusty light and the face of the ripe-looking, lovely redhead sitting behind the desk.

“Miss?” Madeline asks, using her sweetest and most syrupy tone of voice. “I’m Michael Westen’s mother.”

“Oh,” she said, slashing at her open agenda with a red grease pen just one more time before closing the ledger. “How do you do?”

“I’ve seen better days,” she declared, pulling a cigarette and a small pale green Bic lighter from the front pocket of her blouse. “Do you smoke?”

The younger woman shook her head while Madeline puffed upon her cigarette. “Did you want to schedule a conference?”

“A conference?” she smiled. “Oh no, dear. I just have a question for you.” She paused and shot the teacher an innocent look. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh no” she smiled. “I’m just grading a bunch of tests the kids took today. They’re all meeting the state’s new certification measures…except for Michael, which is what I was planning on speaking to you about during the next round of parent-teacher conferences.”

Madeline raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s your problem with him?”

“I take it he spoke to you about the situation that occurred had yesterday.”

“He was crying over his homework – it was pretty hard to ignore.”

Miss Tessmacher returned her pen to the scribble-covered ledger as she stood up beside Madeline. The older woman was surprised by the sharpness of her features and the sudden hardness of her voice; underneath all of her surface beauty there was mean steeliness that made Maddie wary. “Missus Westen, I’m only trying to motivate Michael to become a better student.”

“By being cruel to him?” Madeline exhaled a lungful of air. “Have you ever asked Michael to read out loud in Russian?” The younger woman stiffened up, shook her head. “He picked up a few words from his Grandma and taught himself over the summer two years ago and now he can read Dostoyevsky fluentl. Would you call a boy with that kind of motivation stupid?” 

“Miami Dade County has certain rules and regulations, and they must be followed..”

“Have you asked him to fix a camera? Name all of the different capitols of the world? Told him to fix a bicycle chain with a shoelace or asked him to count Canadian money?” Miss Tessmacher shook her head. “Can you do any of those things?” The teacher shook her head, and Maddie pursed her lips, stabbing out the cigarette on the desk. “Then he’s not the stupid one in this classroom.” She stood up, strode toward the door. “I’ll cut you a deal, honey. Treat my son well and I’ll convince him to play nicer. But if you call him stupid one more time I’ll report you to the state. Understand?”

Miss Tessmacher nodded a violent nod, and Maddie’s smile was sphinxlike. “Good afternoon, Miss Tessmacher.” With a sashay, Maddie disappeared, her arm around Michael’s shoulder.

She glanced down at her son’s face and forced herself not to laugh. For the first time in years, Michael Westen was smiling proudly because of something his mom had done.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fanfiction uses characters from **Burn Notice,** which is the property of _NBC/Universal._ Infringement for monetary gain has not occurred, and this is a work of fanfiction intended for nonprofit use only.


End file.
